


Primal

by parallelmonsoon



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Feral Behavior, Gen, It isn't cute, Lashing Out, Panic, Small non-con suggestion, Violence, instincts, virgil is a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parallelmonsoon/pseuds/parallelmonsoon
Summary: The sides aren't human. But Virgil? Virgil even less so.(In which Virgil turns into a cat when pushed and it's anything but cute and cuddly)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 136





	Primal

The sides are not human.

It's an easy thing to forget, even for Thomas. When Roman pleads for a chance to do better, when Patton flinches from shared sorrow, when Logan huffs his frustration. They are more then their titles. They are more then the sum of their parts because they are the sum of **Thomas** , and Thomas is so many things. Thomas **is** human, and he is glorious and messy and complex because of it. He contradicts himself. He contains multitudes.

The sides are not human, but Virgil? Even less so.

The man leans in close. Thomas takes a step back, then another. Until his back bumps against the wall and Virgil...

Virgil is snarling. High pitched then deepening, a fox's scream, a cougar's yowl. A night noise that blends with his tempest tongue, and in it is an order, something that Thomas doesn't hear as much as feel. Not in his head or his heart but low down deep in his belly, in every sparking nerve.

 _Fight_.

Virgil is looming large. Virgil is a thing of taunt muscles and flattened ears and bristling fur. Virgil is prey turned predator, Virgil is Thomas' thundering pulse.

Virgil is ancient. Virgil is from the time before men when men. When we were scurrying, peeping things that crept small through a hungry world.

Virgil does not think. There is no time- there never was. The rustle of the bush, the shadow of the hawk, the glint of sunlight off a stalking eye. To react is to survive.

 _Fight_.

It's one of the oldest instincts. Only hunger, perhaps, is older. Virgil is shadows that coil thick. Virgil is the flash of fang and the thrashing fury of the final fight. There is no discussion, no debate. No control. The man's hand is on on Thomas' hip and Thomas brings his knee up, a wild blow but a solid one. The man reels back, and Thomas is free, Thomas is running. Thundering back up the stairs to the safety of the party.

No strobing lights, no pounding music...they're all too old and boring for that. Just a dozen or so people clustered around board games and Mario Kart. Of course they all look up when Thomas stumbles in. Of course they want to know why he's pale, why he's shaking. They're his friends. They don't mean to crowd him, to cluster so close he can't move, can't breathe.

Inside Thomas' head the others are huddled far from the pacing, raging beast that Virgil has become. They've seen him through panic attacks, through spirals of paranoia and exhausted, defensive snark. But this...they've never seen this.

Virgil is a lashing tail. Virgil is claws that hook wicked. Virgil is growling, still, and it echoes with the cries of every creature that did not go quiet.

It's Patton who finds the courage to move closer. Patton who reaches out a placating hand just as Joan does the same in the outside world.

 _Fight_.

They are cornered, Virgil and Thomas. Or maybe not, but it feels like they are. It feels like a threat, that friendly, well-meant hand.

Joan yelps when the fist grazes their cheek. Patton stares blankly down at an arm that oozes crimson.

Virgil is primal. Virgil is...

Virgil is waking up. Coming back to himself and the veneer of civilization that muzzles him. There is blood on his lips, thick and resplendent of iron. Joan is apologizing, though they aren't quite sure what they've done. Patton is sobbing.

...it's instinct, still. That drives Thomas, Virgil to turn. To run again, more terrified now then they'd been when the man panted hot against his (their) cheek.

 _Flight_.


End file.
